


Runnning after you

by agamous (apetala)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, featuring two twinks who are stubborn as fuck, that wave of nostalgia and yearning for a past that can't be changed but can be reclaimed, warning for homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:13:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9110104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apetala/pseuds/agamous
Summary: It's been ten years, but even after all that time, there's something between them still.





	

Cristiano wasn’t expecting him.

 

Of course, the performance had been advertised for weeks beforehand throughout the city. It was supposed to be the event of the season, a complex revisionist performance of The Rites of Spring with the original Nijinsky choreography. And Cris had sent home a single ticket, along with a letter to his mother, begging her to come. It wasn’t every day that Cris would be playing the starring role, hard won, years and years of practice and drudgery and bleeding feet to finally become a principal dancer.

 

Cris knew better than to send home another ticket for his father.

 

He still held out hope that somehow his mother would be able to make an excuse and be able to come up to the city to see him dance. Money was always tight around the holidays, but he had sent home extra this month. Enough for a plane ticket, and she could always stay with him while she was there. He had outlined the whole plan in the letter, and crossed his fingers.

 

So when opening night was finally here, and Cris was behind the curtain, breathless and dizzy with anticipation, posed still in the soft darkness with the other frozen dancers behind him, he was hopeful. He imagined his mother’s face, shining with pride and joy as he leapt and swayed, a force beautiful and wild and free.

 

(Not that he could actually see anyone’s face out in the sea of chairs. When Cris was dancing, the world was an island of white light, and everyone seemed to drift in the air as if they were dancing within the atmosphere of the moon.)

 

But when Cris had finally finished his performance, the chosen sacrifice that danced himself to death, and the curtains fell, and the roar of clapping and cheering began, he allowed himself to hope again.

 

When the troupe had finished their round of bows, he hurried to backstage, and stopped an assistant, looking frazzled as the elated cast surged around them.  


“Has anyone asked for me?” Cris asked.

 

“Only every person with eyes in the city.” She shot back. “You were amazing.”

 

“Thank you, but I’m serious. Someone from home?”

 

The assistant’s eyes lit up. “Oh! There was someone here who said they came all the way from your home town to see you.”

 

Cris tried, but he felt his face breaking into a smile regardless. “Can you find them? I want to see them.”

 

The girl nodded, and dashed off. Cris made his way to his dressing room to wait.

There were a lot of bouquets crowded into the small room—plentiful bushels of every sort of rose, several arrangements of orchids, and even some imported peonies. Cris whiled some minutes away reading the assorted cards of congratulations. (and more than a few cards that presumed sentimentality. One even penned a Neruda poem, for heavens sake.)

 

And then, tucked away in a corner, nearly hidden by an ostentatious (and hideous) display of calla lilies and gerbera daisies, was a simple glass jar. It held a few sprays of orange red aloe spikes, flowering points that were too tall for the glass.

 

For a moment, Cris’s mind was wiped blank. He couldn’t think. All he could do, with an only slightly shaky hand, was to reach out, to touch a single velvety flower. The texture of it, whispery and soft, was achingly familiar. The last time he had seen aloe flowers was his backyard, tall florid clumps that grew wild and untamable. Their yearly blade shaped blooms had been a part of the background of his childhood in Madeira, the cycle of seasons, growing, falling in love, heartbreak.

 

Cris knew only one person in the world who would send aloe flowers, in a fucking jar. With closer examination, it looked like it had been a jam jar in a past life.

 

And of course, at that moment, there was a knock on his dressing room door.

 

“Your guest is here!” The assistant chirped from outside.

 

Cris slowly took the steps to the door. Put his hand to the door handle. Took a deep breath. And then took another, longer breath. Turned the door handle.

 

Sergio Ramos was the one standing outside his door.

 

Cris opened his mouth to say something, and found his mind appallingly blank.

 

“Sergio.” He nodded at the man across from him.

 

“Cristiano.” Despite Cris’s short greeting, Sergio’s eyes crinkled up in a real smile. Even with the years, Sergio’s smile remained the same, the same ebullient grin that promised mischief and damage, that brought Cristiano effortlessly back ten years ago.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Hey Cris!”_

_Cristiano heard Sergio, shouting for him a few blocks behind him, but had chosen to hurry up instead, shoulders raising up by instinct while trying to tug the collar of his jacket higher around his face. Of course, it wasn’t any use. Cris could outrun any boy in his school, except for Sergio._

_(That’s how they had become friends. Cris and Sergio had raced in an interclass competition in kindergarten, Sergio had won, Cris had cried and then punched Sergio, and they were best friends from then afterwards.)_

_So Cris didn’t even try to run, and Sergio caught up with him easily a block later, looking irritated. “What the hell, Cristiano? Did I do something---oh.”_

_Cris could try to hunch over sulkily, but there was no hiding the bruise on his cheek, an ugly and purple blotch over the cheekbone._

_“Shit, dude. What happened?”_

_Cris shrugged. “Dad found out about me going to the studio after school. I got in between him and mom and he decked me out by accident.”_

_Sergio whistled in sympathy. “You look like shit. Does this mean you can’t go anymore?”_

_Cris bristled visibly. “He can shout and threaten my ass all he wants. I’m not stopping because he’s an asswipe who’s stuck in 1950. Especially when I’m so close to the next competition.”_

_They walked to school together, another block in silence. They had walked to school together ever since elementary, since they lived so close together. Two boys from the slums of Madeira, passing the same broken down streets they had for the last ten years, familiar with every cinderblock wall gritted over with old graffiti, the carpet of glass shards ground into the earth between the shaky cement tiles of the unpaved road, backyard corrugated tin sheds covered with repurposed green construction netting._

_Sergio bumped gangly shoulders with Cris. “Bro you don’t even have to worry. You’re going to show all those rich assholes who the best dancer is. But when you leave to be a world famous dancer and Kaka leaves for missionary school this place is going to be so boring.” Sergio began to mock cry while hugging on to Cris’s arm. “I’ll be so alooooooone. Can’t believe you’re abandoning your oldest bestest friend for a tutu.”_

_Cris couldn’t help snorting a little, despite his dark mood. “Male ballet dancers don’t wear tutus, asshole.”_

_Sergio cut him a little look from the side. “Would you wear one for me then?”_

_Cris shoved Sergio off of him, laughing out loud. “You’re such a horndog! Always thinking about ass.”_

_Sergio waggled his eyebrows. “Hey, you’re the one who mentioned ass, not me.”_

_Cris bumped shoulders with him back, making sure to make Sergio stumble to the side. “Oh shit dude, guess you got me.”_

* * *

 

 

 

Sergio looked different from the lanky, awkward boy of ten years ago, the one who was all limbs and no grace, face usually patched up or bruised from his latest fight, and long hair that had earned him the nickname “Ponyboy” in school. The man who stood in front of him had…presence, as best as he could describe it. He stood straight, the ease of a man used to physical work, of strength in his arms and hands combined with effortless grace of water. His expression in the split second before Sergio Ramos had processed that Cristiano was in front of him, was one of an internal quiet that the boy Cris knew, never had.

 

But as they walked outside the theatre together, taking a brisk stroll around the meandering pathways, the old Sergio was still evident in this familiar stranger. The way he got excited again when Cris was dying of laughter at an old reminiscence, smile so brilliant the sun could never match. The boundless energy, once expressed in bouncing and surprise hugs, now channeled into an robust stride…and surprise hugs. Cris had asked why Sergio had come instead of his mother when they were by the slate grey fountains, and Sergio had stretched his arms up in the air in a smooth yawn…and taking a few steps, enfolded himself around Cristiano.

 

The same, crushing, almost deadly hug, but with an unfamiliar body against Cristiano. Cris found himself overwhelmed in an instant, the rough scratchiness of Sergio’s winter jacket against his thin silk one, scraping against his exposed collarbone. The wider, and rough callused hands, the power in them unfamiliar and yet familiar at the same time.

 

“I missed you. You traded your friend in for a tutu and I haven’t seen you in forever.” Sergio murmured in Cris’s ear.

 

Cris found himself returning Sergio’s hug, returning strength for strength. “Yeah. Oldest and bestest.”

 

“Also your mom couldn’t make it—your older sister’s got flu and she had to go over to watch the grandchildren. But she gave me the ticket since I was home for break, and strict orders to record every second of your performance.”

 

“Oh.” Cris could only manage. He took a deep inhale, and breathed out.

 

“I’m sorry.” Sergio said. “I know you were really looking forward to seeing her.”

 

“It’s okay.” Cris said. “It’s good to see you again too.”

 

Sergio at first glance may had been unfamiliar with ten years distance between them. But up close, Cris’s chin resting into the crook of Sergio’s shoulder, Sergio still smelled the same.

 

* * *

 

 

_Cris nervously traced the buttons on his phone. He had typed and backspaced the same message for the past thirty minutes, cocooned into his covers._

_For the millionth time, he went over the same arguments in his head._

_He liked Sergio. Sergio liked him. They weren’t like other coy couples, playing an endless game of “he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not”. Somehow, over the past few years, accompanied with the pain of bleeding feet, and Sergio never ever ever shutting up about the horses he worked with at a fancy racecourse part-time, was the knowledge that they both liked each other. There were simply too many times when Cris had looked up, from doing homework together in his room, to catch Sergio staring at him, an unusually serious expression on his face. There was too many times when their squad had all dogpiled into Iker’s car to go to a concert miles away, and Cris had to sit on Sergio’s lap because everyone else had to, and there was even a person tucked into the trunk, so a lap wasn’t that bad. Except. Cris perched on his precarious seat, hyper aware of how Sergio’s breathing had changed as they got close, the way Sergio put a steadying hand on Cris’s waist when Iker took a stop too hard. The hot warmth of that firm hand lingering on his skin even when they had made it to their destination and was walking out into the cold of the parking lot._

_Cris could hear his mom and dad arguing through the thin walls of his room. She was standing up for him, telling her husband how important the dancing was to Cris, how he should let him go to that competition, Cris had been working so hard for it._

_His father interrupted her, shouting that she was an fucking idiot, letting her youngest son turn into a fruit before their very eyes, dancing ballet, ballet, couldn’t even manage a manly dance at that, and why couldn’t Cris do sports like his friends did? There was no way he would allow his son to do ballet for a living, he’d kill him first._

_Cris snuggled down into the blankets firmer, shutting out the world as best as he could. And his fingers, hovering over the keys, made the decision for him, and he found himself pressing send on a message to Sergio._

_It’s going to be my seventeenth birthday this Friday._

_Come over?_

_My parents won’t be home that night._

* * *

 

_Sergio was waiting for Cris outside his door the next morning, stars in his eyes._

_Cris’s stomach flipflopped when he first saw Sergio. Sergio hadn’t replied to his text last night. Maybe he had misread Sergio after all. Maybe Sergio had someone else. Maybe Sergio didn’t like boys at all. Maybe Sergio was here to chase him down and kick his ass._

_But one look at Sergio’s jubilant expression had wiped away the doubt. The boy was practically radiant, staring at Cris with a half open mouth as they walked breathlessly to school. They made it a block without talking. Cris could have broken the silence, but there was a brand new nervousness in his stomach now, a sense of inevitability now. He had pushed something into motion that could only end in one way._

_“Dude.” Sergio stopped Cris. Cris waited as Sergio held one hand up, phone in hand with his message on screen. “Is this what I think it is?”_

_“What do you think that is?” Cris tried to play coy as his nervousness ramped up._

_“A booty call. Cris, don’t fuck around with me.” Sergio drew close, placing his hands on Cris’s shoulders, meeting Cris’s eyes squarely. “Are you about to buss it open this weekend? For me?”_

_“….Maybe?” Cris squeaked, anxiety sharpening his voice. He could have said literally anything else and it wouldn’t have sounded so lame. Like he was scared._

_But Sergio didn’t hear the edginess. He whooped, and linking his hands behind Cris’s waist, he picked Cris up and whirled him around the empty road._

_“WE’RE GETTING SOME THIS WEEKEND!” Sergio howled._

_“Shit, shut up! Our neighbors all live here!” Cris sputtered, red faced, smacking Sergio on the shoulder. Not that it stopped him. Sergio’s part time job at the shady racecourses after school had put muscle on the former stick skinny teen. Cris could feel the new strength of Sergio’s arms as he squeezed Cris even harder._

_As Sergio continued to holler and skip down the road, elatedly talking about plans to make, supplies to buy, Cris kept fighting the tension in his belly, telling himself that he chose this, that this was a good decision. Sergio and him were friends. They were cool with each other. And he had to admit, the memory of Sergio’s hard body against his made him flush a little. It wasn’t like they weren’t both attracted to each other. And Cris had wanted to have his first with another guy forever now._

_This was a good idea._

* * *

 

_Except on Friday night, that needlepoint of anxiety had blossomed into a full on state of near panic, as the hours relentlessly ground down to the time when his parents would leave the house, Sergio would come over…and he wouldn’t be a virgin anymore._

_Yeah, that particular moment was freaking him out._

_It wasn’t as if Cris actively collected stories about men having sex with men, but everyone seemed to agree that taking it up the ass hurt. Like a lot. Like a lot, a lot. And that sometimes they bled from there? Or got tears?_

_He had tried putting some fingers up there in the shower last night, but even just the one finger burned like a motherfucker, and he couldn’t manage a second. How the fuck was he supposed to take a whole dick up there?_

_Sergio hadn’t showed up to walk together to school that day, skipping to work extra hours that day so he could afford to drop by the drug store “to get ready”. Which made it easier in a way, because Sergio lately with his exuberance and excited planning was grating on Cris’s nerviness even more._

 

_But the day edged onwards, and the day turned to evening. His parents waved him goodbye as they left. Cris found the empty house unsettling. He kept pacing around his room, making sure that at least everything was perfect. Sheets were washed. Pillowcase changed. Windows opened for fresh air. Floor vacuumed. (Not that Sergio would care, but Cris did.)_

_Cris was fussing with his clothes. Should he wear his nicest clothes, a black dress shirt button up that emphasized his litheness, with the tight slacks? Or was that too dressy for getting deflowered? Fuck, he didn’t know. Maybe he should wear the loose white shirt that was his favorite. It was soft and well worn, but the neck of it was low, and he had caught Sergio checking him out more than once in it._

_Or maybe he should just…open the door naked? Since it was obvious what Sergio was coming over for anyways?_

_Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of knocking on the front door. Shit, Sergio was here early. Without thinking, Cris pulled on the worn white shirt, and bounded to the front door, the tension fueling his awkward run, to hurry things up, to get it over with already._

_It took him a few seconds to process what he was seeing. Yes, it was Sergio, but it was Sergio holding a cake lit with candles in his hands._

_“Hey.” Sergio’s eyes widened, but his face also broke out into a smile as well._

_“Oh.” Cris blinked, no words he could think of, except to say, “You got me a cake.”_

_“Well yeah.” Sergio smiled. “Happy birthday, Cris.”_

_There was a moments pause, as Cris had to collect himself._

_“Thanks.” He smiled back, and somehow it was a little easier to breathe. “Come on in.”_

_Sergio held out his hand as he brushed past Cris, snagging him by the hand, and leading him inside the house._

* * *

 

_“So what do you want to do?” Cris asked as he pulled out two plates and forks for the cake from the cabinets._

_“Number one, I want to eat this cake. Dude, I’m starving right now. Work had me from eight all the way to six with no breaks. Some big race today or something. And this popular horse started frothing, so we had to take him out, and let me tell you, my boss was not happy.”_

_Cris huffed as he sliced into the cake—black forest, Cris wasn’t a big fan of sweets but he could always find room for a slice of black forest—and cut neat little triangles that slid onto his mother’s best china plates. When he put down the plate in front of Sergio, still talking about his day, Sergio ignored the fork in favor of picking up the slice and cramming it into his face, still talking as fast as before._

_“Oh my God, are you even human?” Cris scolded as Sergio took another huge bite. “At least use your fucking fork.”_

_“Forks are for lesser mortals.” Sergio grinned up at Cris, cream and chocolate smeared on his face. “Hurry up or I’ll eat your slice too.”_

_“Leave my birthday cake alone, asshole.” Cris guarded his plate from Sergio’s hand. “Get off! The rest of it is in the kitchen.”_

_“But I want iitttt.” Sergio whined. “Don’t I deserve something, working hard from dawn to dusk? I’m a working man.”_

_“You’re a useless lump who scares the horses. And it’s my birthday.” Cris pouted._

_“Yeah?” Suddenly Sergio leaned in closer, into Cris’s space, making his breath catch. “What can I trade you for that slice then?”_

_Sergio’s line may have been cheesy, but his eyes were bright and serious. His stare was overwhelming, and the air around them languid and weighted. Cris’s mouth fell open unconsciously to take a breath, and he could see the minute workings of Sergio’s reaction across his face._

_“Well,” Cris breathed. Found a bit of courage. “You could kiss me, I guess.”_

_Sergio huffed a laugh, but before Cris could squirm and turn away, to take a breath, to think it over, Sergio had reached out to place a hand gently on Cris’s chin, and gently, pressed a hesitant kiss on Cris’s mouth._

_Soft, Cris thought dreamily. Sergio’s mouth was unexpectedly soft. Just the press of his lips against his, for a few long seconds, like the downy underside of petals._

_And then Sergio, taking a deep breath through his nose, and out, began to press more firmly against Cris’s mouth, moving, nudging Cris’s mouth open._

_It was nice. It could be a nice kiss between friends, best friends, who knew each other from when they were little. Boys on the cusp of growing up, full of dreams and stars, so ready, so eager in love._

_It could have been a simple kiss, that tasted of innocent cake and dreaming candles._

_But of course. They were young, and simple was never enough. Dreams were for making, and stars for chasing._

_It was Cris who deepened the kiss. Changed the angle of his mouth, just a little. Relaxed the teeth, relaxed everywhere._

_Gave Sergio the chance to come in._

_There was the sound of shattering, and Cris and Sergio jumped apart. The china plate with the cake had been pushed off the table, and was now shards on the floor._

_It was Sergio who spoke first. “Oh….shit. Cris, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”_

_“No, it’s okay. I mean.” Cris said. He could barely think straight. He felt boneless, too thick headed to talk. “The plate, not….not what we were doing.”_

_“Is it? Shit, I didn’t mean to break your moms stuff.” Sergio looked nervous for the first time that night. “I’m sorry. I wanted everything to be perfect for you. I’ll go find the broom or something-“_

_“No. Stop.” Cris reached out to catch Sergio’s arm as he turned to look. “It’s really okay. I mean it. We’ll take care of it later.”_

_“Later?”_

_“Yeah.” Cris swallowed. “Lets go to my room first.”_

* * *

 

_Cris and Sergio had trooped down the hallway to his bedroom, both of them silent. The quiet felt weird, and yet anticipatory at the same time. Both sweet and yet grave._

_But Cris for the first time the whole day, for days, really, felt in control again. Felt like what he was doing was right. That it was the right thing to lead Sergio by the hand into the dark room that they had played together in, did school projects together in, talked all night about everything and nothing with a bottle of borrowed vodka. This only felt like the next natural step._

_To lay back on his sheets, and having Sergio climb in after him into his bed. Tilting his head up as Sergio enfolded him into a loose limbed hug, and easily following into the kiss that was interrupted earlier. Easy, affectionate kisses that slowly turned deeper, slower at times and faster at times. With time, Sergio relaxed and allowed his full weight to press down on Cris, using it to hold him steady as he began to trail kisses down the side of Cris’s neck. Cris squirmed against Sergio’s weight but couldn’t find the strength or will to buck him off, and Sergio taking advantage by using teeth in his kisses. Cris could only groan and fold his arms around Sergio’s neck, marveling at the sensation, how easy embracing Sergio like this came, familiar and yet newly intimate. The body that he once knew, he was relearning, such as the hard broadness of Sergio’s back, the warmth that pooled in Sergio’s collarbones, the freckles on his neck._

_Cris could feel himself starting to harden against Sergio, a warm looseness all over his body. There was no hiding his reaction with Sergio’s full weight on top of him. Distantly he could hear Sergio groaning in his ear. He felt rather than saw Sergio pull himself on his elbows to bracket Cris. There was a moment of chill, the absence of Sergio on his skin. Then the brush of Sergio’s hair on his chest, and a sudden bite on his Cris’s nipple, surprising a sound out of Cris._

_“You like that?” Sergio said, voice low and husky. And then lowered his head to lave an apology, drawing circles before closing his mouth over it for another slow, agonizing bite through the thin cotton. This time Cris couldn’t help his moan, full throated, and desperate._

_“You know how long I wanted to do that to you?” Sergio whispered. “You and your constantly cold nipples, poking holes through your shirt. Fucking drove me crazy.”_

_“Fuck…” Cris sighed. “I wish you would have. Saved us some time here.”_

_“Naw.” Sergio smiled. “Our timing might be slow, but it’s perfect.”_

_“Oh, we got a poet over here now.” Cris grumbled, but allowed Sergio to pull him up, long enough to tug his shirt over his arms and tossed onto the floor. Sergio pulled his off as well, and then pushed Cris on his back on the covers again, slotting their mouths back together for a kiss._

_This kiss was different though. Messier, more heat to it, Sergio invading his mouth with more force now. Kissing skin to skin ignited a different energy, one that grew more desperate and focused. Sergio unbuckling him, and unzippering Cris, and Cris trying to do the same only Sergio was taking up all of his attention. Kicking off their jeans off the bed, and now there was no stiff fabric to hide that they were both hard. Cris found himself swimming in the sensation, the muzziness of being kissed, combined with the newness of Sergio’s cock pressing against his hip bone._

_When Sergio paused to pull off his boxers, Cris felt a slight twinge of anxiety again, looking at his friend’s cock for the first time. It wasn’t porn star enormous, but it wasn’t a finger either. He reached out his hand to explore the feeling of it, and it felt heavy as his fingers encircled it._

_“How does it feel?” Sergio rasped as Cris tentatively ran his hand up and down the shaft._

_“It’s nice.” Cris tried. “Sergio…I don’t know. I’ve never done this before..”_

_“Babe, it’s all cool.” Sergio preened. “I know just what to do. Saw it in a magazine.”_

_“Don’t want to know what kind of magazines you’ve been reading.” Cris groused._

_“Just leave it to me.” Sergio pressed another kiss to Cris’s mouth. “Turn over.”_

* * *

 

_That first slow, excruciating slide of Sergio’s cock into Cris nearly left him in tears._

_The fingers had been surprisingly easy to take, with plenty of lube and an patience not usually expected of Sergio. Sergio had been patient, watching Cris carefully for any signs of discomfort._

_But the reality of his cock was far different, blunter, wider, spearing him open in a agonizing neverending slide. Sergio was trying to be as slow as possible, stopping at times when Cris was almost overwhelmed with the pressure. Cris gulped rapid, deep breaths in an effort to distract himself as Sergio kept readjusting, applying more lube, and kissing Cris’s neck in apology as he continued to push inside of him._

_“Are you all right?” Sergio asked worriedly when he was finally, finally, all the way in Cris. His cock felt so much bigger than it had even in his hand, a dazing foreign invasion that his body was screaming at to leave, trying to push out._

_Cris swallowed. “Yeah. Just stay still for a while. Don’t move.”_

_Sergio dropped another kiss on Cris’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Cris. It’s okay.”_

_It felt like forever, but slowly, and slowly, Cris felt his body adjust to Sergio’s, the pressure lessening and the spike of pain mellowing into a diffuse discomfort instead. As Cris relaxed, he became more aware of his heartbeat, fluttery and rapid, and the blood rushing to his face. Sergio, his best friend, had his cock deep inside of him. The knowledge somehow was making Cris blush. This was the moment he had been waiting for, all those weeks and days of worry and anticipation leading to this white hot second, when he was impaled on Sergio’s cock, Sergio finally, finally fucking him._

_Cris gave a tiny nod, as well as a whispered “okay.” Sergio nuzzled the nape of Cris’s neck, as he began a small, tentative rhythm of thrusting, slow and careful._

_It hurt, but less and less so, as Cris felt himself open up, Sergio thrusting into him, losing some of his caution as he groaned out his pleasure into Cris’s ear. The maddening brush of his long hair on Cris’s nape as Sergio sped up._

_Sergio grasped Cris tightly to him, and adjusted his angle, and the next thrust made Cris gasp_

_“Fuck, you all right?” Sergio asked in surprise._

_“Yeah.” Cris ground out. “That was…good. Really good.”_

_Sergio didn’t respond, but the next thrust after that, the same angle and pressure, made Cris whine._

_“You like that baby?” Sergio hugged Cris to him, Cris growling and swatting at him._  
  


_“Shut up Sergio. Don’t get cocky.”_

_“Interesting choice of words. But anything for the birthday boy.”_

_Before Cris could really hit Sergio in the arm, Sergio adjusted his weight, pinning Cris down on the sheets, and began thrusting in earnest, managing the same angle against that spot that electrified Cris’s body, fucking him into mattress. Sergio’s cock hot inside him, burning him from inside out, helpless as Sergio used his body ruthlessly._

_And then Sergio shuddered to a stop, shivering and groaning over him._

_“Shit, did you come already?”_

_Sergio was silent for a moment. Then a low mumble. “Fuck.”_

_Cris groaned. “No. No. I still haven’t come yet. Don’t you dare do this to me, Sergio Ramos. Don’t make me blue ball it until you can get hard again.”_

_“Fuck, I won’t, just give me a second…” Sergio withdrew abruptly, the sensation causing Cris to shiver. The sound of a condom being pulled off, tied off and thrown off into the floor._

_And then Sergio was between his thighs, making space between them. Cris felt the hot heat of his breath on his cock before Sergio closed his mouth over Cris’s cock, making him arch off the bed. “Fuck!” Cris breathed._

_The rhythm was brutally quick, and Sergio’s mouth unbelievably hot, the whole endeavor too much for Cris’s already singed nerves. A couple bobs up and down his shaft, combined with a brush of teeth against the head of his cock was enough to make Cris come with a wail, Sergio pulling off his cock in surprise, coughing._

_“Oh…” Cris exhaled. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”_

_“Dude, warn a bro before you come in his face.” Sergio wiped come from his cheek._

_“At least we’re evens for the plate you broke now.”_

_“What, you’re still counting now? After I just gave you the best dicking of your life?”_

_“Don’t get smug with me, asshole. Technically that was also the worst dicking of my life.”_

_“Well shit.” Sergio stretched out next to Cris, and then enfolded him into a sweaty, messy hug. “Guess we better do that again then.”_

_“Sergio, I’m still hungry. I didn’t get any cake, remember?”_

_“You come in my face and I gotta feed you too? Good thing you’re so pretty.”_

_Cris let himself drift in Sergio’s hug. It was a little disgusting honestly, and too hot for comfort, but yet it was the only place in the world he wanted to be right then._

* * *

 

_If only he hadn’t let himself drift. If only he had made him and Sergio get up, clean up, get cake, go to sleep. Maybe it all would have turned out differently._

_But Cris did fall asleep, Sergio naked beside him drowsing soon after._

_And when his parents came home early from their visit to the house, they found a cracked plate with a sweating cake on the counter. His father had swept the house for an explanation, and had found Cris and Sergio on the bed, sleeping like lambs, with their clothes strewn on the ground as well as a tied condom._

_It was obvious what had happened._

* * *

 

“So,” Cris asked Sergio, as they were making their way to bar stool in the raucous bar. “What happened to you? No one could tell me where you left to after I got kicked out of the house.”

 

Sergio shrugged as he pulled off his scarf. “Eh. After everything that went down, my parents shipped me off to this bible camp in the woods. They had to let me out when I turned eighteen, but I was too angry then to finish the rest of my last year in school.”

 

Sergio paused to pop an olive in his mouth from the plate left out on the bar, while Cris waited expectantly for more. “And?” He prompted. “I tried to ask your parents where you were about two years after everything happened…but that didn’t go down very well.”

 

“Not surprised.” Sergio spat out the hard olive pit. “They didn’t know where I was then either. Managed to get what money I saved up to get a ticket to the States, except I ended up in bumblefuck nowhere in Iowa. Iowa sucks, man.”

 

Cris rolled his eyes. “You just picked the first ticket you saw without looking into it first, huh?”

 

Sergio grinned. “You know me. Seriously though, cornfields as far as the eye can see. I can never eat another corncob as long as I live. But I found work going around small farms, hitched rides with friends to new jobs. Eventually I got a legal work visa for this guy who trains racehorses, and that was steady work for a couple years. What?” Sergio asked a Cris who was shaking his head with a smile.

 

“I’m just glad. You always loved horses. They didn’t call you ponyboy in school for nothing.”

 

“I may have lost the majestic mane, but I’m still a stallion at heart.”

 

“Only at heart.”

 

“Wow. Wow. That was fucking brutal. First time you see your old friend in nearly a decade and you gotta do him like that.”

 

“Oh please. Ten years and your ego’s still as massive as ever.”

 

“Hey, I just want you to know that I’ve had no complaints in that department, whatsoever…sooooo fuck you man.” Sergio pouted. “ _Some_ people can appreciate a ten when they see one.”

 

“What, a ten out of a hundred? What scale are we using here?” Cris joked. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Cris added as Sergio mock pretended to pick his stuff up and leave. “I’m sorry, it was just too perfect to pass up. I’m really glad to see you again though. Really. I thought maybe you didn’t want to see me and that’s why your parents wouldn’t give me your address.”

 

“Cris.” Sergio turned to look him straight on, face serious. “Come on. I’d never do that.”

 

Cris swallowed. “But I didn’t know where you were…no one did. And you haven’t contacted me over the last ten years. Not an email, text, anything.”

 

The owner swept by, and they stopped to make their orders of beer and dried salted tuna plates. When he left again, the air between them was strangled. The loud buzz of the place couldn’t cover the silence between them, the words that couldn’t quite be said out loud.

 

“I don’t know why, exactly.” Sergio finally said, quietly. “At first I was angry. Really angry. Fucking furious, at my parents, at your dad for spreading all those stories, all those friends that turned their backs on me. But I was never angry at you. I just…I just wanted you to be okay. I just wanted you to be all right. I thought then that maybe it was better if I wasn’t there, fucking up your life again. I thought maybe you’d move on, with some rich city boy, who’d be better for you and your new life. I was just some loser who worked temp jobs, living in a country illegally without a high school degree. I couldn’t offer you anything.”

 

Cris was speechless. He was brimming over with an emotion he couldn’t quite pin down, only knowing it was filling every inch of him, the lip of it threatening to spill over with a single drop.

 

“I thought I was okay with my life. I thought as long as you were happy, then I could be happy too. Working with horses, had my own place. It was all right. It was all good.”

 

Sergio took a swallow of his beer that was placed in front of him. “I thought, anyways.”

 

“You thought.” Cris repeated.

 

“Yeah. Until I was reading a Spanish paper, three months old, that this other guy at work who was from Seville brought with him. Just happened to have it on him that day, used it to stuff some boxes. I pulled it out to read and your name jumped out from the print. It was a tiny advertisement for some performance, but it had your name on it. And I knew you were dancing, you were living your dream. That you made it.”

 

Sergio carried on speaking. “And somehow, in one day, that horse farm wasn’t enough for me anymore. Don’t even know why. Just had an itch in my bones. Put in my two weeks, bought a van from another coworker, and just travelled. Drove to California, did the Hollywood thing and the beach thing. Just couldn’t keep still. And when money ran low, I found a job with some government wildlife department in the Pacific Northwest. Climbed trees, cut down brush, shoveled out dirt paths in the forest. I was tired everyday, just tired enough to stay in place. But that wasn’t enough either.”

 

“It all wasn’t enough, until I bought that plane ticket home, to see if someone home knew where you were now. I couldn’t find anyone to speak to me from the old neighborhood, until I found your mom by accident. She made me stay to eat a meal, and then when she heard why I was there, she just gave me the envelope with the ticket to your performance and told me to record everything to show to her.”

 

Cris couldn’t think at all.

 

Sergio’s face was downcast now, shadows over his face as he stared unhappily on the bar countertop. “I’m sorry, Cristiano. I didn’t mean to dump my life story on you. It’s not why I came here for.”

 

“What did you come here for then.” Cris heard himself saying, as if from a great distance.

 

“Just here, doing a favor for your mom.“

 

“Fuck you.” The words sliced through the air, left politeness hanging heartlessly by a sinew.

 

“What?” Sergio looked blank.  


“Fuck. You.” Cris enunciated. And then got up from the bar stool savagely, striding out of the crowded bar, tears stinging his eyes.

 

He was shouldering people aside, people throwing irritated glances at him, someone shouting something rude at him, but it was all happening on another world, another lifetime. He was looking at the world unfolding underneath his feet like he was standing on a frozen lake. An untouchable series of events.

 

He only knew he wanted to go home. Back to his apartment, warm and cozy. A bed full of soft covers, cocoon up in them, and fall asleep.

 

A hand suddenly gripped his upper arm, pulling him up short, breaking his concentration. He whirled to punch at his assailant, who else could it ever be but Sergio, his best friend, loyal and wild, the best friend whose pale face he couldn’t bear to look at.

 

His best friend, whose life was forever altered because of him.

 

“Cris, what’s wrong? What did I do?” Sergio asked desperately. He ducked to miss a swing.

 

“You’re a fucking liar, Sergio Ramos. You fucking coward. You fucking shitheel. How could you ever--” Cris snapped his teeth shut.

 

“How could I what?” Sergio asked anxiously.

 

“How could you ever think that you weren’t enough for me. _Fuck_. I waited for you for so long. I thought you left me behind a long time ago. I thought you forgot me. I thought you hated me. How could you ever think that you weren’t good enough for me?” Cris was shaking all over. He was cold, cold down to the wick of him.

 

Sergio’s eyes were wide, wide, the depths in them as vast as the night above them. The years had transformed his body, his voice, and etched new thin lines on his forehead, and unfamiliar heaviness to the boy that was once as bright as the sun.

 

But right now the expression was one and the same with what the boy had once worn, ten years ago, when he was waiting outside the house of the best friend that he once loved, on the precipice of the shattering of the old world.

 

“I ruined your life.” Cris could feel the treacherous tears rising to his eyes. “You didn’t graduate school because of me. You didn’t see your family for years. No one from home will talk to you. And you still have feelings. After all those years. You fucking idiot.”

 

Sergio didn’t say anything, only looked at Cris. And took a step forward.

 

“You’re unbelievable, you know that? You don’t show up for years and years, I give up the idea that you’re ever going to be there at my performance, that we’ll finally, finally, see each other again, even as friends, as acquaintances even, someone that I used to know once, anything. I was fine. I was good. I had my dancing and that was enough. I had to make it be enough.”

 

“And you just walk in, ten years, YEARS, Sergio Ramos, and you think it’s fine to just throw it out there casually, oh hey, by the way, I’m still a little bit in love, but it’s fine, its good, I’ll just fly back and never see you again and never bring it up? Who the fuck do you think you are? How fucking dare you?”

 

Sergio took another step, right in front of Cris now. Another silence fell.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Cris was crying now, tears falling of their own accord. “You didn’t deserve what happened. I’m so sorry, I’m so—“

 

And Sergio, with a newfound slowness, bridged the final distance into Cris’s space. His hands raised, as if both in surrender and in desire, brushed the side of Cris’s face.

 

Cris had seen many lovers since that turbulent night of firsts. He had been roughly kissed in alleyways, had mouthed his way down a stranger’s shaft, had pressed his lips to the leather handle of a whip.

 

But Sergio kissed him in the way that only Sergio could. The way that filled the cracks in his heart like water through drought cracked earth, the way tides followed the moon.

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow they made it back to Cris’s apartment.

 

Somehow, Cris was leading Sergio into his place, darkened and chilly. It was late.

 

They made their way to his bed.

 

Cris climbed in first, and cocooned himself in his covers. Then lifted the sheets and gave Sergio the chance to come in.

 

And so he did.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T54Gb2IY4Uk](the%20song%20that%20inspired%20the%20title%20)


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